As Spike carefully handled the package of popcorn he had cooking on the stove, he casually thumbed his way through King Sombra’s old diary. Sure, it was terrible; that was a given. But for a baby dragon that spent most of his time either dusting shelves or doing dishes indoors, rudimentary activities like the ones described by Sombra in his book still managed to hold his interest plenty.
Plus, until last night, Spike truly had no idea about the “cool side” of the pillow.
He knew he could never go back. Not ever.
Spike flipped to the next chapter.
SORROW
It is said that each pony has three faces to show. One that the public sees. One that only their close family and friends see. And the one that only appears when that pony is alone.
The face I show to the world is one of hardened steel. Unbreakable. Unbendable.
The face I show to my loved ones is warm and gooey, like a freshly baked cinnamon bun.
But the face I hold now, as I sit on my bed, miserable and alone, wondering where it all went wrong, is one coated in tears.
I feel sorrow in my heart. Sorrow like never before.
I foolishly opened myself up today, left myself bare for all to see, and in return I was gutted with a knife so sharp that God himself would bleed from it should it be tossed his way.
I told a joke at work today and nopony laughed.
Not even a snicker or a smile.
A classic joke, if I do say so myself.
Q: How many slaves does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
A: Depends on how you stack the bodies.
Pending an abrupt change of heart, I have decided that all those within earshot of my miraculous attempt at levity, shall be sent forthwith to the Crystal Empire’s very own Laugh Camp. Hopefully to relearn how to laugh, chuckle, or guffaw.
Thus far, not a single soul has ever escaped from Laugh Camp.
That makes me laugh for some reason.
Heh.
THE REBELLION
It has become clear that a rebellion is in the works; a band of miscreant bastards hellbent on overthrowing me and undoing all my good work. Do they not understand just who they’re up against? Do they not understand the danger they’re putting themselves in, just by making themselves known to me?
King Sombra is no one’s fool. As my personal advisor learned this very afternoon after I rammed his head against a courtyard wall and held it there.
“Who wrote this!?” I demanded, my eyes blazing with purple smoke, my pupils darting between my quivering advisor and the shameless graffiti on the wall just beside us. “Tell me!”
“I don’t know, my lord!” he chokes out. “It just appeared there! Overnight!”
I take a step back and let him fall to the ground, eyeing up the rebellion’s first vengeful attack upon my person. Up on the courtyard wall is a large caricature of myself done in red and grey crayons, no more than three feet up off the ground.
Let it be known here, first, that I look nothing like that. Not nearly as chubby cheeked as the rebels would have you believe.
Even worse is the apparent speech bubble exiting my image’s lips, exclaiming to all that look upon it, that: “I HAV A SMEELY FACE.”
Let it also be know here, first, that I have never said such a ridiculous thing in all my life.
I round on my advisor again, screaming down at him. “I want these lowlifes found! Today! Then hanged, drawn, and quartered posthaste!”
“But… my lord…” my advisory squeaks out. “This was clearly the work of children!”
I settle down for a moment. “Fine. You speak the truth, servant. Children would be much too small to cut into four. Cut them in half instead.”
Then I turn and march away, orders given and head heated. Yet the biggest question of all still remains. How did they know I had a smelly face?
With popcorn bucket and book in claws, Spike settled himself on the softest loveseat in the castle foyer and tried his best not to get melted butter on the open pages. Spike found it hard, though. Considering the topic for the chapter ahead.
“You have got to be kidding me!” he erupted, chewed-up popcorn swiftly exiting from his gaping maw. With renewed interest, he read on.
MY BABY DRAGON
It was my birthday last week. I won’t divulge on these pages how old I really am, but let’s just say I have to touch up my roots every two to three weeks to keep them as black as they are.
If I had a beard, I’d call it salt-and-pepper.
Many gifts were laid at my steel-plated hooves that day, but only one truly took me by surprise.
A dragon. A living, breathing, squirming, wriggling baby dragon.
I am unsure how to react, exactly. Is a baby dragon a normal birthday gift to give? Or did that guest merely forget about my birthday altogether and this baby dragon remained as the last available item on the market shelf? Either way, I am stuck with it now.
I have begun calling him B. Dragon.
My imagination has never been the same since I accidentally murdered it in a dream I had.
Thus far, B. Dragon has been an overwhelming disappointment. Here is a simple “pros” and “cons” list for easy consumption.
PROS:
It is a dragon. That’s pretty neat.
When he’s asleep, I use him as a convenient paperweight.
CONS:
Complete lack of cool fire breathing or flying skills.
Complete lack of super spooky sharp teeth as he still only has his baby teeth.
Complete lack of conversation starters; I have to start and carry each and every conversation between us.
Has been caught eating the jewels from my crown. Twice.
Sadly, it’s become clear that things won’t work out between B. Dragon and myself. Many guards have told me to hold on to him for a few more years until he’s older, but you know what? I want a flying dragon now. Not in ten years time!
This morning, I had both B. Dragon and the birthday guest that had given him to me launched out of the Empire by catapult.
Good news for me? That particular guest wasn’t a pegasus.
Bad news?
B. Dragon decides that now would be a good time to sprout wings and learn how to spit fire. So, if you’ll excuse me, I have a terrible feeling he’ll be coming back any time now.
With all that written down, I shall now go hide in the basement like the brave king that I am.
“You have got to be kidding me!” Spike repeated once more, after he’d scanned the book front to back and found not a single other entry on “B. Dragon”. He sighed, licking butter from his claws. “Twilight’s right. This book does suck.”
Then he chucked it in the trash where it belonged.